Needful
by Jalen Strix
Summary: A one-shot companion piece to Golden, set at the same time and offering a more nuanced view of Rio's character.


Author's note: This provides motivation for Rio's continued ignorance of Jerrica's secret identity as Jem. As his character always grated a bit on my nerves in the series, I found it delightful fun to provide a different view of his actions. I find him a far more interesting character this way - but his story is not a light and jolly one.

* * *

**Needful**

I always wonder if she'll tell me.

I watched Riot trail after Jem, stalking out of the crowd in his usual lordly manner, unconsciously demanding attention just as surely as he was consciously trying to cloak his presence. I know what she sees in him, of course. Everyone knows what they see in him - or at least anyone with the barest hint of attraction to men. He's very good at giving them exactly what they think they want.

And I've been very good at giving Jerrica what she thinks she wants - in both her guises.

I'm never quite sure why she doesn't tell me. She can't really believe I don't know, not after that island incident. Jem disappearing for months and Jerrica oh-so-conveniently nowhere to be found as well? How could I not realize after that? But not a word after her return about it. Not one word.

And of course, the Holograms are sworn to secrecy. She's their leader, after all.

But until she does tell me, I'll know that she needs the secrecy - and needs me to remain in the dark about it all. Perhaps it wasn't so fortunate that I stumbled through the fake wall in Starlight Mansion so long ago. Maybe I would be better at giving her what she needs if I didn't know about the computer Synergy, and what Synergy's capable of. But we can't change what has happened already. We can't control what we know. We can only control what we choose to do about our knowledge.

And after the initial shock of it, I chose to watch her and wait. At first, it was waiting for her to spill her secret, waiting for my chance to express the pain of her need to lie to me. Then, when that didn't come, I waited for the opportunity to tell her myself, to let her know that she wasn't alone, that I wouldn't drive her away for this. But then, when the right time never seemed to appear, and the touches and caresses continued, and with them the secret and sometimes not-so-secret trysts....then I began to understand.

I couldn't tell her - not and still satisfy what she really desired. Something in her needs me to be in her control, needs me to be torn, needs me to suffer. Some part of her needs me to be wavering between two lights, cracking my conscience with every touch, firing my desire and guilt with every caress of a woman who is not the one I'm pledged to. That's the key, of course - I must be of unshakable morals, except on this. So upstanding, so unforgiving, so unbending, so unyielding - the shining hero of stories, pure of heart and intolerant of deception. Except on this. Lancelot to her Guinevere.

But also, of course, Lancelot to her King Arthur. Some part of her needs to feel that potential betrayal as Jerrica even while receiving the scandalous, delicious fruits of it as Jem. She has unusual needs, it's true. But it's what keeps her from falling apart.

Who am I to argue with that? We all do what we need.

I love her, of course, which is why I play along. But it gets old sometimes. Like tonight, when I'm watching Riot stalk his coveted prize like a damned silken predator. Riot's role is far more flamboyant - the Bad Boy, Monsieur Le Rock Star, with his unassailable arrogance. He has a very different appeal for her, letting her Jem-side play at the expense of her alter ego.

Of course, even golden rock stars can be oblivious, particularly when they're so wrapped up in themselves to begin with. Months on an island with her, and he never noticed the similarities between her as Jem and her as Jerrica?

For shame, Mr. Llewellyn.

Of course, I suppose he's never kissed Jerrica, so perhaps I can forgive his ignorance just a little. But he can't give her what she needs. He can't feed both sides, not the way I can. No, Riot, in all his golden glory, only knows how to indulge the one part. Jerrica's other needs are, and will remain, a mystery to him, unless he's far more perceptive than I think he is.

Time is running out for this - Jerrica's beginning to falter, pieces of herself bleeding into one another under the strain of playing this game with us both. She must decide about him soon, decide when and where to indulge him so that he'll leave her be.

Of course, he doesn't love her enough to continue the game beyond the inevitable fruition of his efforts. He doesn't need her enough. Only I do. Only I even know how to play her game of mental chess just right.

And so, I deftly followed Riot, blending much more easily into the background in my simple tuxedo. Not a single member of the golden throng even noticed my presence as I threaded my way past them. No, eyes were only for his Golden Highness in his equally golden frock coat. Even Minx, who decides to be infatuated with me now and then to relieve her boredom - even she let her eyes slide right past me. Riot always gave her what she really needed. I didn't rate a single side glance.

Perfect.

I watched as he tracked Jem through the darkened corridors, watched as he entered the room where she had escaped to. When I reached the entrance myself, I stood in the shadows, watching, waiting.

The picture in front of me would have been very interesting for any number of tabloids - Riot holding Jerrica in his arms, his dark eyes shining for her the way they had shined once only for Jem. I caught a whisper of conversation from them.

"And you're the man to do it, are you?" she asked, in the sort of voice I had heard so rarely from her as Jerrica. It was a Jem voice - a taunting voice, full of possibilities.

Riot melted easily into his accustomed grace. "Oh yes, my lovely," he said, drawing close to kiss her, "I'm the man to do it."

Unsurprisingly, he knew how to satisfy her appetite for sultry romance. That was a given, and the basis for her attraction to him. But did he understand her need for something darker? Something a little more likely to get her heart pumping in that desperate fight-or-flight response?

Of course he didn't. He only saw a woman wearing a mask that he had managed, through sheer persistent sexiness, to make her remove. A conquest in the making, even if he didn't realize that's all she was to him. If I was feeling charitable, I would say she was, to him, a puzzle to be solved.

But I loved her. The game had changed, and I knew how to change with it. I knew what she wanted, what she needed to silence that insidious, shameful craving inside her. And I was here to deliver it, as she needed.

I put on my best quietly shocked demeanor, and readied my entrance into the scene.

"What the hell is this?" I let my voice carry, echoing tones of outrage and disbelief.

They both froze, a tableau of _in flagrante delicto_.

Riot recovered first. "Something you wouldn't understand." His words were smug, supercilious in their surety.

I let my eyes linger on Jerrica's. My words were soft, meant to insinuate, meant to lacerate. "No," I said, breathing out slowly, "I understand exactly." And with that, I turned on my heel and left.

Jerrica's wail of my name was sweet as poisoned honey, throbbing with undertones of mortification....and excitement. That's my girl.

Riot's voice called her back, with charming, chiming laughter that was just a touch cruel. Good man. Predictable man.

I heard her hesitation in the slowing of footsteps, in the pause between breaths.

That's right, sweetheart, go back to him. And as you entwine your body with his, that deep, dark part of you that wanted this, that needed this little scene....that part will be thinking of me the entire time.

Her footsteps grew softer as they approached the room where he waited for her, shining aura ready to envelop her in a blaze of flash and dazzle.

I'll be waiting for you tonight, sweetheart - when you call me in tears, in the aftermath of your passion and self-condemnation, asking for forgiveness, for understanding, for absolution. Writhing in penance and the edge of despair, you will call out to me. And I will be there to push you to the breaking point, and make you feel...alive.

I'll be there, sweetheart, to give you what you need.


End file.
